


Would you maybe like to see the room?

by HastaLux, TheUniverseIsRarelySoLazy



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: A chance encounter, M/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr, at least the first day, one week in venice, rp ficlet exchange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-21
Updated: 2018-04-21
Packaged: 2019-04-25 23:45:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14389617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HastaLux/pseuds/HastaLux, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheUniverseIsRarelySoLazy/pseuds/TheUniverseIsRarelySoLazy
Summary: Originally a ficlet RP exchange on tumblr, this is the story of how Mycroft met Greg in Venice.Mycroft written by me, Greg written by HastaLux. (Changes between characters are marked by --- between paragraphs.)





	Would you maybe like to see the room?

No, no… No, that can‘t be. Not here. Not here! There are so many places in this world to be. So many other places. Better places. Why?

Mycroft sinks into his chair and draws the book up so that it covers his face. Or at least he tries to. Why did he have to pick such a small format? He can barely fit his nose behind it!

Luckily he has chosen a chair at the very back of the cafe, overlooking the Piazza San Marco, covered by the shade of a large umbrella on this hot summer day. Only tourists are up and about in the heat.

And of course the other man chooses the very same cafe to have a drink, sitting down at one of the front tables. Mycroft reaches for his phone. This is why he had checked the schedules of known associates beforehand. He just wants to enjoy a week of vacation in Venice with no interference. Just reading and drinking coffee, doing nothing for a change. It‘s his first bloody holiday in years!

He glances at the silver hair glinting in the sun as he brings up the app, with the secure connection back home, on his phone. Gregory Lestrade does have a week off scheduled, though it doesn‘t say where. Mycroft checks Greg‘s flight. Ah. Booked by the now ex-wife, almost a year ago, now taken by Greg alone. That‘s why it hasn‘t been on Mycroft‘s radar. Careless. Utterly careless.

Mycroft sighs and puts the book on his table, staring at the back of Greg‘s head, for once at a loss about what to do next.

\---

The coffee may have been a bad idea. Nothing the Yard has is remotely as good, and there’s a chance that by the time he gets back he won’t be able to stand the taste of cheap, burnt grounds. Plus, they’d given him a scone with Nutella on it which is bloody amazing.

Greg scratches into the scruff growing on his cheeks. He needs a shave, but he’s been lax about it. Isn’t as though there’s anyone to impress. He honestly wouldn’t have bothered with the trip at all, except that he already paid for most of it and Sally kept going on about how Italy is absolutely the best spot for a rebound shag he’d never have to see again. Not that he’s looking, not really. A pointless shag with someone he doesn’t even know isn’t that appealing, even if he’d promised Sally he’d think about it. Really, the most he’s hoping for out of this trip is a decent tan.

He turns to catch the eye of the waiter and get another scone. If he’s on holiday, dammit, he can eat what he likes.

There’s a flash of ginger hair in the back of the cafe. Greg’s eyes lock onto it, onto the eyes that he’s caught staring. Mycroft Holmes. Really? Greg blinks. Yes, definitely the elder Holmes, and something in Greg’s mind is innately pleased to see him, especially so far out of his usual territory.

Greg laughs. He grins, picks up his cup, and walks with it to the shaded back where Mycroft is lurking. “Mycroft. Please tell me you’re here for a government thing and not a Sherlock thing.”

\---

Their eyes meet and Mycroft briefly contemplates running. Only Mycroft Holmes does not run. He faces every situation with composed dignity. So he schools his features into an expression of relaxed amusement, even though a small voice in his head is already screaming. He crosses both his arms and legs as Greg walks up to him.

„Inspector Lestrade. What are the odds?“ He says smoothly. „In fact I am here for neither.“

„You‘re not actually here on holidays?“

„Is that so hard to believe?“

„Honestly? Yes.“

„Well, it doesn‘t matter to my holidays if you believe in them.“

Greg moves a hand through his hair and actually smiles.

„I suppose not.“

Mycroft sighs. Just a little more small-talk. Then the inspector will hopefully leave him alone. And as if Greg can read his mind, he sits down with a cheeky grin that Mycroft would love to kiss off his face.

Where did that come from?

\---

Greg wonders when the last time Mycroft had a holiday was and it struck him the answer was quite possibly never. “So what are your plans?”

“Plans?”

“Yeah, holiday itinerary. Sightseeing or getting a gondola ride or whatever.”

“My aims lean more to relaxation than tourism.”

Greg leans back. “You can’t be in Venice in not do anything touristy.” Mycroft gives him a disbelieving look that he wants to turn into a bright smile- why, he has no idea. But he does have potential means. “Here- I’ve got two tickets already to a few things and no one to do it with. You seem like an opera person, yeah? La Traviata at the Teatro La Fenice?” His accent is awful, and no doubt he’s mangling the Italian horribly. Truth be told he’s personally far more interested in a Venetian cooking class, it’s one of the few things on the schedule that had been his pick and not the ex’s, but it was really meant for couples so it seems… forward, maybe.

Er. Forward implies- no, his brain probably meant awkward. Too much time in the sun.

\---

The sun must be getting to him. Did the inspector just suggest an activity? That they would do together? Why? Why would he even…

Mycroft slowly, cautiously takes a sip of his lemonade. He is stalling for time because he doesn‘t know how to respond. This definitely wasn‘t on his agenda for today. It doesn‘t help that he is mildly confused by his own indecision. He could easily decline Greg‘s offer, but he sees something in the other man‘s eyes that makes it difficult.

Greg seems outwardly content in his light summer clothes and the beginning of a holiday tan, a slight smile on his lips… but his eyes are lonely. Sad. Hopeful.

„I suppose I could rearrange my schedule if you insist,“ Mycroft hears himself say. „But I‘m not moving from this chair until I‘ve finished my book.“

Greg‘s answering smile is brilliant and makes Mycroft feel a bit better about giving up his craved solitude.

„How many pages do you have left?“

„About 200.“

„I better get another coffee then.“

\---

Another coffee and definitely another scone. Perfection. Greg skims through his pocket travel guide while Mycroft reads, trying very hard not to watch Mycroft over the top of his far thinner tome. The sense of relief he felt when Mycroft agreed is still washing through his veins- he won’t be the sad sack with an empty seat next to him after all. And even better Mycroft will probably appreciate it. Greg hopes he does. Greg’s got mixed feelings on opera- he likes the spectacle of it, the costumes and the skill of the singers, but it’s not something he usually thinks to seek out. Though he had gotten Sally to go with him to a decent production of Don Giovanni a few months back, one that had Ottavio and the Commendatore as members of Scotland Yard.

When he hears Mycroft set the book down again Greg grins widely and pockets his little guide. “All done? Looked riveting. You read fast.”

“True.”

“Okay, so- performance is at seven, I think. I should probably change into something a bit nicer before then. My hotel’s down the street, so that’s easy, but I’m not sure what your, uh, schedule looks like….?”

\---

You look just fine the way you are, Mycroft thinks. He‘s been rushing through the book, at least twice as fast as usual, suddenly filled with anxious energy. So he doesn’t remember much of the content right now. No, he was - still is - distracted by the way Greg tries very hard not to stare at him.

Is it the fact that Mycroft looks so different out of his usual suits? It has to be. Or maybe he‘s actually sunburnt? Mycroft brings a hand to his cheek, checking for heat, but there is none. Oh god, please let there be no burn.

„Just around the corner, as well,“ he anwers, then. „I‘m staying at Hotel Danieli.“

„Of course you are, Mr. Bond,“ Greg laughs.

Mycroft has to smile despite himself. „You know that the hotel has a history of accommodating real famous people like Wagner, Goethe or Dickens.“

„Call me ignorant, but I just know they filmed The Tourist there.“

„Ah, yes,“ Mycroft says and empties his glass at last. „While I haven‘t seen that particular film, it has been pointed out to me as I moved into my room.“

„Wait a second… You‘re staying in that room?“

„Apparently.“

\---

Greg supposed spending an absurd amount on a gorgeous room was probably Mycroft’s version of the Holmes’ flair for the dramatic. That or the blessings of having never had to want for money. “Well. That’s… I suppose you just requested the best room, then.”

“Mmm.” Not quite a confirmation, but likely enough.

“Good thing there weren’t any of those real famous people already in your way. Or would you just have them moved?”

“That would depend on the degree of and reason for their fame.”

“Huh. Anywhere your powers don’t extend?”

Mycroft gave him one of those neutral smiles Greg imagined he perfected somewhere highly classified.

“Right. You do know you’re just digging yourself deeper on the Bond comparisons?”

\---

„Be that as it may,“ Mycroft replies and leaves it at that, but Greg still seems amused by his non-answer.

Mycroft takes another look at the inspector, so happy and relaxed, and decides there and then that it wouldn‘t be so bad to spend some time with him, even beyond the opera night. He‘s barely started his holidays, and Greg is there for the week, as well. But it‘s something he doesn‘t need to draw attention to now - better get through the night first. But somehow he wonders…

„Would you,” Mycroft starts, before he can catch himself. „Would you maybe like to see the room? It is quite… nice.“

By the surprise in Greg‘s eyes he realises that this wasn‘t what the other had expected. Oh god, no. It could be worse. Had he really just invited the man to his hotel room? What if—

„Sure, I’d love to, if you‘re offering.“

„I… yes, I suppose I am offering,“ Mycroft replies and lets the words stand by themselves.

\---

Greg hears the words coming out of his and Mycroft’s mouths and is very, very glad that he’s never been giving to blushing, because the most obvious interpretation of this is… well, Sally would have a fit. An excited fit, but still. It’s not as though Greg hasn’t pulled a bloke before- there was a point in his youth where he was a bit of a slag about it, really- but he hadn’t pegged Mycroft as being amiable to… anyone, really.

Assuming that he’s reading this right.

“Never seen a hotel room fancy enough to have a film shot in it before. Sounds nice.”

He could be wrong entirely, of course. Sherlock’s application of social niceties is woeful, and that’s a generous statement. Could be that the older brother has some of the same… disregard for custom. In which case he could simply mean it as a friendly offer.

A degree of caution is called for either way. And… a bit of investigation as well.

“You know that movie wasn’t too kind to Scotland Yard, but Paul Bettany did make a very handsome Inspector.”

\---

Mycroft isn‘t very well versed in the art of flirting, but he is a skilled diplomat, so he recognises Greg‘s comment for what it is: A cautious test of the waters. Much would rest on Mycroft‘s response right now. Briefly he wonders how he even got into the current situation. Not two hours ago he contemplated where to get dinner alone, now he‘s engaged in what is shaping up to be a proper date.

It‘s not like Mycroft‘s averse to dating - he just never seems to meet anyone worthy enough to spend what limited time he has with in such a manner. But now he has time. And an impressive specimen to indulge in this experiment with, too. Still, it wouldn‘t do to be too forward.

„He is a rather fetching individual, I must admit,“ Mycroft settles on. „Though not exactly my type.“

Greg grins in a way his whole face lights up. „So what is your type, then?“

There was no doubt anymore about where this was heading. None whatsoever.

„I suppose you‘ll have to find out,“ Mycroft smiles back and raises from his chair, then snatches his book from the table. „The hotel is this way. Come on, we shouldn‘t dawdle if we‘re to have dinner before the performance.“

He walks away with a grin on his face and leaves Greg to follow him.

\---

Oh… dear. Mycroft is a bit devilish, isn’t he. Alright, Greg could handle that. He’s been out of the game for a long time but he was at one time fairly good at it, and now he’s certain there are the right signals between them. Not at all what he expected going into today, but… it’s something that will make his holiday far more interesting, that’s for certain.

He catches up quickly, not at all surprised by the way the crowds instinctually part for Mycroft, like a school of fish giving wide berth to a shark. The hotel is simply stunning. A breathtaking interior courtyard with a wide stair… absurdly beautiful, really. “Huh. Don’t get to see much like this. Think the last time was some high society wife shoving her husband’s mistress over the balcony….” Greg chances a glance at Mycroft, who is arching a brow at him. Right. Maybe he’s a bit rustier than he thought. “Er. Sorry, I don’t really get out of the Yard much.”

\---

„Never apologise for your work, inspector,“ Mycroft answers readily and decides to open up with a bit more honesty. „I admire your dedication.“

„You do?“ Greg sounds surprised. „I didn‘t think you‘d notice much of it.“

„I make it my business to notice everything. Through here now.“

They‘ve reached the top floor - of course - and Mycroft holds a key card to a door that looks like it would lead into a palace. Well, it does. The building has once been one, after all. He can‘t help but show off just a little and makes a grand gesture with his hand to admit Greg ahead of him.

But as he closes the door behind them, all aloof feelings suddenly seem to desert him, and he is once again nervous. So very nervous.

„Please, take your time to look around. There‘s a restaurant on top of the hotel, which we might consider for dinner. I‘ll go change into something more appropriate the bedroom.“

Before Greg can respond, he all but flees the scene, ears red. Mycroft only hopes Greg hasn‘t noticed his anxious mood, but he knows his flight wasn‘t very subtle…

\---

The suite is absurd. Greg can’t believe people need this much space, the ensuite bar for entertaining, the separate lounge, the balcony overlooking the water- actually, he can understand the last bit, but the rest is just… a lot. It would make sense for a large, rich family, perhaps, or someone with a full entourage, but for just Mycroft it feels… a bit lonely.

And the man himself has suddenly scurried off, the beginnings of a fine flush on his face. Huh. Greg doesn’t know what Mycroft would have to be worried about- if anyone is out of place in this hotel it’s Greg. Someone might mistake him for a My Fair Lady-type experiment.

“You’ve got a great view,” he calls over to the bedroom. Small talk is a better idea than thinking about how nice that flush looked. “Don’t suppose you get a lot of those singing gondola gents waking you up at all hours?”

“Not as of yet,” Mycroft’s voice comes back through the door, slightly muffled.

Greg moves closer to the door. “You aren’t putting on anything particularly posh, are you? No need to dress up on my account.” It won’t matter if Greg does go back to his hotel to change, he knows he hasn’t got a thing that can match the best of Mycroft’s wardrobe.

\---

Mycroft wonders if Greg can actually read minds. He‘s standing in front of his wardrobe, which mirrors the one he has at home - even if everything is only available in smaller quantities. Of course he has packed several of his suits. It wouldn‘t do to be caught unaware. Just the thought of having been called back to London and arriving in what he is wearing now (some light cloth trousers and a dark green polo shirt) gives him the shivers. Of course he has packed a tuxedo. You‘ll never know. But it doesn‘t seem like it would be all that appropriate tonight, no matter the location. It‘s tourist season, so Mycroft anticipates a well-dressed, but not formal crowd. Alright, decision made.

A few minutes later, he steps back into the other room, and from the look on the inspector‘s face, he does seem to have chosen well.

„I know this is still dressing down for you, but there‘s no way I can match that.“

Mycroft looks down at himself in an off-white linen suit with a blue shirt underneath, for that small splash of colour. He has forgone any tie, but left the top two buttons of the shirt open. It is appropriate, but still a bit playful.

„Nonsense,“ Mycroft replies. „You but have to smile and you‘ll look more radiant than everyone in the room, no matter your attire.“

So what if he has decided to hurry the situation along a bit? No need to prolong the inevitable.

\---

Oh. Christ. Greg’s skin is rethinking its prior stance on not blushing, especially about the neck, and he makes a mental note that Mycroft Holmes does not play fair. Not in that gorgeous suit- and Greg has definitely noticed his choice about the buttons- or with his flattery. Or that hint of a smirk. Git knows exactly what he’s doing, damn him. Good thing Greg isn’t above his own tricks to even the playing field.

“That make me your arm candy, then?” Greg turns up the wattage on his tilted, rakish, slightly predatory grin last seen on an undercover operation (photos printed out and posted in the canteen by Anderson, Dimmock’s handwriting underneath spelling out “The Silver Fox Special” because the lads think they’re very funny.)

“Thought that was meant to be the other way ‘round. The more fetching person is the arm candy.” Greg leans against the wall, openly appraising and lingering particularly on those two open buttons. “Think that’d be you, love.”

\---

Love? Oh my. Endearments already.

The holiday was supposed to relax Mycroft. He currently feels anything but relaxed, but he couldn‘t care less. A grin spreads across his face and he all but stalks towards Greg, quickly reevaluating everything he knows about the man in the light of this new development. But Mycroft is nothing if not good at improvising on a changed set of data. He comes to a stop in front of Greg, crowding him against the wall, but without any part of their bodies actually touching.

Mycroft sees his smile mirrored on Greg, who had briefly looked surprised, but has apparently settled into smug amusement now. Mycroft decides to be bold and places both hands on the wall beside Greg‘s body, feeling the fabric tapestry uneven under his fingers.

„I admit that this is an utterly surprising, if not unwelcome development,“ Mycroft says slowly. „If am reading this correctly I‘d much rather skip dinner, because I am suddenly hungry for something very different… inspector.“

Mycroft draws Greg‘s title out, pronouncing the consonants harshly, sounding as if he is already a bit out of breath. He sees Greg‘s eyes widening slightly.

\---

Greg doubts Mycroft has ever been truly surprised by anything in his life, but he’s not expecting this bit of boldness from the elder Holmes. It reminds him of his sordid younger years, ducking into alleys and the backs of clubs. Not that he’s complaining. His sordid days were fun. This evening is getting more interesting by the second.

He grins widely and wraps his hands about the lapels of Mycroft’s posh linen jacket. “Yeah,” he exhales. “Who needs food.” He pulls, forcing the gap between them to close.

The kiss is eager- Greg hopes not too eager- but it has been a bit since he’s really gotten to let himself enjoy things and he’s pleased to be jumping back in. Besides, Greg has never been shy. Or chaste, for that matter. He has no hesitation about letting his teeth drag across Mycroft’s lower lip or testing how much access the other man is willing to permit his tongue.

Once the rhythm of passionate exploration is there between them, he slides his hands inwards across the blue of Mycroft’s shirt, aiming to get the rest of those lovely buttons undone and give his hands some skin to wander over.

\---

For all his boldness in the initiation of this extraordinary event, Mycroft’s thoughts blank out for a moment as Greg’s lips finally meet his. But the other man doesn’t skip a beat, and soon they’re trading gentle kisses, that are just on the right side of dirty, slowly getting used to the feel of each other’s bodies.

As Mycroft feels Greg’s hands on his shirt, he moves both of his to the silver hair and tugs the inspector’s head back with just enough force to make him gasp a little.

“You have to understand, inspector,” Mycroft whispers as he places little kisses down Greg’s jaw. “I’m usually not as… forward. But you seem to inspire me.”

Greg huffs a laugh and obviously tries very hard not to lose his concentration, but his fingers are fumbling with the buttons, as Mycroft places open-mouthed kisses and gentle bites down his neck.

“I wouldn’t have done this with just anyone, you see. If I wouldn’t trust you implicitly, you’d never even have set foot into this room. It might sound a bit… well, conceited, but you should consider yourself lucky,” Mycroft continues and then places his mouth next to Greg’s ear, makes sure that the amusement in his voice is audible. “Now, what do you want me to do to you?”

\---

It’s possible that if he weren’t up against the wall already Greg would be slumping into it, because he’s absolutely certain his brain has shorted. His heart is definitely getting more exercise than it has in years, echoing in his ears just under Mycroft’s words. And spiking particularly hard for that last bit.

Speaking of hard… Greg finds himself to be more responsive than expected. He could chalk it up to his time out of the dating pool, but he has a feeling it’s more to do with Mycroft being… Mycroft. Lord. He’s either very lucky or very much in trouble.

Greg reminds himself to breathe. It’s perfectly fine that at his age he has suddenly realized that having his hair tugged alongside an authoritative male voice in his ear is a massive turn-on. No need to swoon over it. Breathe.

“I want your hand on me.” He undoes another button. “Then your mouth.” Another button, then Mycroft’s shirt is free enough from Greg to slide it out of his trousers and run his hand over the silky flesh of Mycroft’s stomach. His breath hitches when Mycroft drags his teeth over Greg’s throat. Yeah, he does consider himself lucky. Christ.

“And then I want to taste you.” One of Mycroft’s hands is already deftly going for his belt.

\---

As Greg‘s hand touches his skin, Mycroft‘s anticipation turns into full blown arousal. His breath speeds up as he bares his teeth and almost bites down hard on Greg‘s throat. But for all the willing participation, Greg still seems nervous, underneath it all. Better to ease the man into everything slowly.

Mycroft reaches for Greg‘s belt and pulls the man towards him, so that their bodies meet. He inserts a few fingers behind it, stroking the heated skin.

„Such a modest request. I think I‘ll have you beg before the night is over.“

Greg can‘t respond, because Mycroft‘s mouth is on his again, claiming him. The belt is open before Greg even realises and the light trousers fall to the ground. Mycroft presses his hand to the obvious erection and strokes it through the last cloth barrier, smirking against Greg‘s mouth as the other almost loses his balance, only kept upright by Mycroft now pressing him against the wall with all of his body.

„Beautiful…“ Mycroft whispers.

\---

“Fuck,” Greg breathes. He shifts his hands to Mycroft’s back and presses in as he drags them up, leaving red lines where his nails are long enough to do so even under the confines of Mycroft’s shirt. Which Greg has decided he needs off of Mycroft as soon as possible.

He manages to get Mycroft out of the jacket, at least, while Mycroft is stroking him, teasing him. Even just a hand on him through his pants is nearly matching the most attention he’s seen in about a year. It won’t be long before he’s as hard as he possibly can be.

Greg ducks under Mycroft’s mouth when the opportunity presents itself and licks a line down Mycroft’s throat until he can bite into his collarbone, just shy of hard enough to leave a mark. “You want me to beg.” He nuzzles his mouth into Mycroft’s neck, licks, nibbles on his earlobe. “Tell me what you plan to make me beg for, exactly.”

\---

Mycroft shivers as he feels Greg’s teeth on his skin. Nervous, yes, but still as bold as he can be. Perfect. He arches into Greg’s touch, but with a final squeeze, let’s go of him completely and steps back. Greg momentarily loses his balance, obviously not expecting the move. Eager hands trail along his arms, trying to hold on.

“It seems a shame to undress, after I put this on just for you, but I’ll make an exception today,” Mycroft purrs and shrugs the blue shirt off his shoulders, after he pulled down the braces. The air in the room is warm enough, but Greg’s heated gaze still makes his skin break out in goosebumps. It has been a while since he’d felt so excited with a partner, and it seems like the inspector has similar thoughts, panting, clinging to the wall like a lifeline. 

When Mycroft Holmes wants something, he pursues his goal with a single-minded purpose, so now it’s time to be bold. He has a feeling Greg won’t mind. At all.

Mycroft actually toes off his leather shoes, as he can’t be bothered - for once in his life - to reach down and untie the laces. The rest of his clothes quickly follow, and as Mycroft is left with nothing at all, his own evidence of arousal is left proudly on display. Greg doesn’t seem to be able to move, just watches with unblinking eyes.

“Follow me and I’ll tell you,” Mycroft then says with a grin and turns to walk towards the bedroom.

\---

It takes a second to process, but Greg does eventually wrap his head about it. Yes, Mycroft is completely naked, and yes, he looks just as gorgeous as Greg expected. Fucking hell. He shoves off the wall and strips as he walks, tossing his own shirt casually to the floor and his trousers after kicking his shoes off far less gracefully than Mycroft managed.

Greg’s not a young man but he keeps himself decently put together, or so he likes to think. At least in good enough shape not to have some sort of heart episode when he needs to chase down a suspect. Or when he finds himself unexpectedly snogging Mycroft Holmes in a posh hotel in the middle of Venice. So he doesn’t hold back when he gets the last of his off and cast aside.

He catches up with Mycroft beside the bed, wrapping an arm about his waist and pulling him in for another kiss. “Funny, I don’t think it’s a shame you’ve undressed at all.” Greg kisses him again, subtly turning them so Mycroft’s back is to the bed, letting one finger trace the last few notches of his spine before he grabs a firm handful of Mycroft’s arse.

Then he executes a gentler version of a police maneuver, a quick bit of legwork that puts Mycroft off balance and lets the pair of them fall into the soft comforter that covers the bed. Greg grins cheekily looking over the pleasant view of Mycroft below him. “So. You were saying?” he asks before setting his mouth to exploring Mycroft’s chest, his tongue running across a nipple.

\---

It‘s a shame that Mycroft didn‘t have time to admire Greg‘s body much, as he can barely turn before he is effectively pinned to the bed. And if that doesn‘t make a whole new wave of arousal move through him from head to toe. He figures he‘ll have more time to look at Greg later, because in that moment he decides he‘ll have the man moved into his hotel for the remainder of their holidays.

Mycroft is about to answer the question when Greg licks across his nipple, which happens to be one of his most sensitive areas, and all air escapes him in a loud gasp, pressing his chest upwards. Greg indulges him by sucking, as he catches on to the meaning of Mycroft‘s reaction immediately. Mycroft‘s hand grip at the fabric underneath, unable to find purchase in the heavy material, so he settles on Greg‘s hair again. His erection rubs against Greg‘s stomach.

Oh my god. Thoughts. Question. Answer. Fuck. Mycroft, get it together.

„I want you to beg for the permission to fuck me,“ he manages, gasping.

„The way this is going, I think you‘ll be begging me.“ Greg laughs.

„We‘ll see,“ Mycroft says in a rather confident tone, which just earns him another bite. „Now you said something about my mouth. Come up here.“

\---

Oh God, that worked even better than expected, Greg thinks as he toys with Mycroft’s nipple. He savors the noise Mycroft makes, the struggle he has in finding something to hang on to. It’s how Greg knows he will look bloody fucking amazing when he comes completely undone. Later, though, later. Greg wants this to last a good long while. “I think,” Greg starts to shift up, giving him one more bite for good measure on his way, “you just like giving orders.”

He makes a point of dipping his hips as he climbs up, pressing into Mycroft’s erection, groaning as his own rubs against it as well. “But I will fuck you, if you like,” he says teasingly. “Begging or no.”

Greg licks another stripe up Mycroft’s throat before he slides up farther, rolling off the taller man and onto his back so Mycroft can position himself as he likes. He can’t help a grin when Mycroft nudges his legs apart and kisses the inside of his thigh. “Wouldn’t mind you inside of me at some point either. If you can find the time in that busy schedule of yours. But I think I like the idea of you begging for mine first.”

Mycroft shoots him a wicked look. “Is that so?”

He dips his head and licks a single stripe up the back of Greg’s cock, at the same time pressing his thumb against Greg’s perineum in a way that sets Greg scrabbling for a handhold against the comforter. “Bloody hell.”

\---

„But my dear Gregory, we haven‘t even begun yet,“ Mycroft whispers against Greg‘s heated skin, as he massages gently with his thumb.

„Mouth. Now.“

„Is that a plea?“

Greg smirks. „No. It‘s an order.“

„I can work with that.“

Mycroft licks his lips, then leans down and swallows Greg completely in one move. He remains like that, leisurely sucking and stroking all parts that his tongue can reach, but apparently Greg can only remain still for so long, as his hips rise from the bed in a silent command to get on with it - and Mycroft does. Partly.

„Fuck!“ Greg shouts as he‘s being worked at a pace that is still too slow. Mycroft manages a throaty chuckle, but doesn‘t speed up. Then Greg‘s hands are in his hair, holding him into position as he starts bucking up into his willing mouth.

„You know what? I think you like taking orders even more than giving them. That is is all a show to make me lose my patience. Well, you‘re almost there.“

Mycroft can only moan in response, as Greg‘s cock blocks off his air and he feels himself rubbing against the bloody comforter, which is simultaneously heavenly and not enough. But he enjoys the feeling too much to even think of moving.

\---

It’s obvious now that Mycroft is interested in a bit rougher handling than Greg had expected. Fortunately for him, Greg can oblige. He paces his thrusts only half for his own pleasure- he isn’t planning to lose himself here, after all, and he clenches his teeth to growl through his own moan when he has to let one out. The other half of his strategy is to watch Mycroft work to keep from choking, to hear the lovely noises he makes. “God, you’re beautiful, you are. Just like that, love.”

“No getting it off with the bedspread, though.” He laces his fingers through Mycroft’s hair more firmly, pulling his grip taut to make his point while still keeping his head still. “Keep your hips still, I’ll see to you in a bit, however you like it, but you’re mine right now.”

Talking is helping him not lose his mind, which is useful as Mycroft turns out to be quite skilled. He can easily picture himself coming down Mycroft’s throat, but that’s not how he plans to come today. It just means he’ll have to come back and try it another day, before he leaves Venice. And in the meantime, he’ll have to keep finding ways to keep his focus. “Ready to beg me yet?”

\---

It would definitely be a faster way to his goal to just give in. But Mycroft is enjoying the game too much to do so. Well, it‘s mostly because of Greg‘s obvious joy that is written in a now almost permanent grin across the other‘s face. Mycroft sucks experimentally, and the smile is lost in a moan, but returns soon after. If he’s honest, it makes him feel more aroused than anything else that they‘ve done so far. Just the thought that Greg might be enjoying this as much as he does…

Mycroft has to still himself completely, lest this be over too quickly. Greg realises that immediately and lets go of his hair with a question in his eyes.

„I don‘t beg,“ he says, means it authorative, but his voice is already hoarse, and he wants to keep talking to hear himself. „Also we haven‘t worked through your own list yet.“

„Ah, yes. A taste,“ Greg‘s eyes light up. „Change of positions, then?“

„Gladly.“

Mycroft crawls up Greg‘s body and places wet kisses all over his chest, before he locks their lips and flips them over. No worries about falling off the bed here - it‘s big enough for at least three people. Not that Mycroft would want additional company here, now that he has such a prize in his hands.

\---

It’s far too easy to tease Mycroft, Greg has realized with a grin, though he’s tempted to press the begging issue just to see what Mycroft does about it. Teasing can work a few different ways, of course, and Greg has some ideas of other methods to test. He smiles wider as he sits up, appreciating the view of Mycroft beneath him and running his hands over the supple flesh along his chest, tracing his fingers over Mycroft’s nipples before he shifts down, licking his lips.

He sets himself between Mycroft’s legs and rubs his thumbs up the inside of his thighs before placing his hands along Mycroft’s waist. Bending and placing a kiss on the head of the rather inviting cock beneath him, Greg flicks his tongue out and laps in slow circles, slicking the whole of the head. Then he lets his mouth fall over it, enveloping while his tongue is still stroking, working steadily farther down and taking Mycroft deeper in.

\---

Mycroft relishes in the way Greg‘s fingers explore his body, every touch leaving a trail of heat on his skin. He tries to keep it together when Greg‘s tongue laps at him, but quickly realises that it‘s a losing battle, as his mouth produces small whimpers without his consent. The image of Greg hovering just there is too much for him to take in, and as the other man lowers his mouth, Mycroft actually curses and is glad for the two hands that keep his hips on the bed.

„Gregory…“ he hisses, doesn‘t know if it‘s an ecouragement or a warning.

Greg isn‘t deterred at all and keeps up his steady pace. Mycroft is completely gone. He has underestimated how long it‘s been for him. Not only the act itself, but how long since he could let himself go like this with someone he can trust to take the lead. To take care of him. The rush of emotion takes him completely by surprise and escapes him through a moan that‘s almost a sob.

„Gregory…“ he says again, with more purpose this time.

Greg hums around him in acknowledgement. Decorum and ego be damned.

„Fuck me, Gregory,“ Mycroft whispers, despite everything too embarrassed to properly raise his voice. „Please. I need to feel you.“

I need to feel that is real.

\---

Greg has never once thought of himself as a Gregory, but hearing it out of Mycroft’s mouth is… perfect. He could hear it moaned like that forever.

He slides one hand over Mycroft’s thigh, cups around his sack, strokes one finger behind and into his cleft. He could torment him for begging, but that feels cruel now that Mycroft really does need him. He can hear it, near desperate in his voice, the whimpers he can’t help making. “You can have me, love.” He presses another soft kiss to Mycroft’s cock. “Stay just there a mo’. I’ve got what we need.”

Greg does, much to his own surprise- for the first time in ages, thanks to Sally hurling a packet at him and telling him to quit being such a sad bastard and go get laid- he’s got a condom and a tear-off lube sample in his wallet, like some over-eager university first-year. Sadly, his wallet is in his pants, which have been abandoned in the next room. So he’s fast with grabbing them and returning to Mycroft, unwilling to leave him for more than a scant few seconds. He nudges Mycroft’s legs wider and coats over his fingers. “That’s it, gorgeous. I’ll take care of you. Get you ready for me.”

He slips his fingers down the cleft, spreading the lube about, and presses one finger against Mycroft’s hole. “Ready?”

\---

As Greg disappears, Mycroft shivers at the loss of his touch and involuntarily draws his arms around him. He had never thought of Greg in this way before, but now that he‘s started, he can‘t seem to be able to stop. Mycroft hadn‘t been lying, when he said that he trusts Greg completely. It‘s that trust that makes him relax again, believing that the other will run as fast as possible.

When Greg all but flings himself at the bed on his return, as if he couldn‘t get there fast enough, Mycroft has to smile, briefly and indulgent. But then Greg‘s hands are on his legs, spreading them, he takes a deep, nervous breath. For all his bravado leading up to this, he suddenly feels very small. He hasn‘t been on this side in god knows how long.

Greg‘s words smooth over his worry, though. He would never let himself be talked to that way anywhere else, but here, between them, somehow it feels right. He reaches out with his right hand and strokes along Greg‘s face.

„Ready.“

\---

Greg presses the first finger in cautiously, gauging Mycroft for any sign of discomfort. Slow and steady is the name of the game for this- he hadn’t always been so careful in his youth, but men of a certain age have to be more careful with themselves.

From Mycroft’s unguarded moans and whimpers, Greg sets his pace. “That’s it, gorgeous.”

“Gregory…” That groan is by far louder. Greg grins. He’s skimmed over Mycroft’s prostate.

“Right there, hm? We’ll come back to that. Ready for another?” He skims a second in a semi-circle against the stretching muscle about the first.

“Yes, Gre- ah-”

Greg smirks. “Alright, breathe for me. Here we go.” He pushes the second in. It’s easier to manage the stretch with two, but Greg is still gentle about it. “Think you need a third, love, or are we good with two?”

\---

Mycroft‘s breath hitches. He has done two before, but he enjoys Greg‘s smile as he leans over him, and the gentle movements of his hand too much to let him stop. Why rush a good thing? The familiar feeling makes him more relaxed and Greg‘s endearments work on a whole other level.

„Three, please,“ he says quietly. „And come up here.“

Greg obliges and shifts to lay next to Mycroft, so both are on their sides, facing each other. Mycroft slings one leg over Greg‘s body as the other reaches lower and makes good on his promise. Their bodies align perfectly and Mycroft buries his face in Greg‘s neck, breathing heavily against his skin. The air-conditioner blows cool air that falls like snow on his skin, but Mycroft feels like he is overheating.

„Is that okay?“ Greg asks as his fingers are seated once again.

„More than okay,“ Mycroft answers and kisses along Greg‘s jaw until he reaches his mouth.

As they kiss, slow and deep, he sneaks an arm between them and takes both of their cocks in his hand. Greg moans at the feeling, and Mycroft quickly decides that this is his new favourite sound in the world. He starts rocking between his own hand and Greg‘s fingers, rubbing along the other‘s erection with every small movement.

\---

“Fuck, that’s good,” Greg breathes against Mycroft’s mouth between kisses. He is lucky he doesn’t have to concentrate too hard with Mycroft doing the work for him, because it’s getting very difficult to focus on anything other than the feeling of their cocks sliding together. And Mycroft- Mycroft is basically fucking himself on Greg’s hand. Every time his brain comes back to that fact he feels a deep wave of arousal pulse within him. “God, Mycroft-”

He wraps his free arm around Mycroft’s back, holding him, running his fingers over the warm skin. “Mycr-” he loses the rest to a groan.

“Gregory.”

“Need you- soon- soon as you’re ready….” He lets his head fall back with a gasp when Mycroft’s cock thrusts at a particularly pleasing angle against his own, all safely contained in the elder Holmes’ hand. “Please.”

“Say it again, Gregory.”

“Please- please, Myc-”

\---

And Mycroft can‘t let it go. He just can‘t.

„Please… what?“

„God, Mycroft… please!“

Mycroft actually manages to stop moving, even though it‘s one of the hardest things he‘s ever done - no pun intended. He stares into Greg‘s eyes as they go wide.

„Please, I need you…“ Greg says, shivering in Mycroft‘s grasp, making small, aborted movements, chasing any kind of friction. „You‘re ready, I can feel it.“

Mycroft jolts at the movement of Greg‘s fingers, but he doesn‘t say anything. Keeping up this concentration is taking everything he has in him. It isn‘t even about such a petty thing as proving Greg wrong, no it‘s about at least a shred of control that still belongs to him… because he just knows he‘ll be absolutely gone later. But for now…

„I need to fuck you. Now. Please, please let me?“

In response Mycroft growls and rolls them both over, so he‘s now straddling Greg‘s body, then catches both his wrists and pins them to the bed. He licks along Greg‘s lips before smiling down.

„I suppose that counts as begging,“ he hears himself say, wonders where he got the air from to produce the actual sounds.

Greg looks confused for a second, but then he throws his head back in laughter, and if that isn‘t the most beautiful thing Mycroft has ever seen?

„How do you want me?“ Mycroft asks with a grin of his own.

\---

“Why don’t you start up there and show me how you like it,” Greg says mischievously. “And we can trade when you want to just feel. So long as I can see you I’m pleased, love.” He casts a glance askance at his pinned wrists. “Though you’ll have to decide whether you’d like to let me up or if you want to put that condom on for me.”

Mycroft arches a brow. “Stay there. Don’t move.” He grabs the condom and what’s left of the lube packet. It’s another bit of control Greg is granting him, for now, and Greg knows it. Which is why Greg is more than happy to keep his hands still as Mycroft gets him ready, even when he moans at the feeling of Mycroft’s hand sliding over him.

“Mycroft….”

“You’re ready.”

Greg nods. God, yes, he is. The anticipation is killing him via the gorgeous view of Mycroft lining himself up above him. “Come here with me, beautiful,” Greg breathes. Mycroft grasps one of his hands, linking their fingers together, and slowly, slowly, begins to press down and let Greg in.

\---

Incredibly, Mycroft doesn‘t feel any discomfort as he lowers his body. Yes, there is the initial stretch and adjustment, but despite his position he feels incredibly relaxed. Maybe it‘s to do with the way their fingers are linked, or the gentle touch of Greg‘s other hand, rubbing along Mycroft‘s thigh. He wants to take it slow, but it takes no time at all for him to be properly seated.

Mycroft has to close his eyes as the feeling threatens to overwhelm him, and he leans forward, withdraws his hand from Greg and places both on the other‘s chest. He works to control his breathing, doesn‘t even dare move yet, just wants to enjoy the moment. As he feels both of Greg‘s hands on his hips, he finally opens his eyes and looks down the man, who so obviously tries very hard not to move, it‘s almost endearing.

„Good?“ Greg manages to ask.

Mycroft doesn‘t trust himself to speak, doesn‘t know what his voice might sound like in that moment, but he does it anyway. „Very good,“ he whispers, then lifts himself up and down once. Both of them release a strained groan at the sensation.

„Oh god,“ Mycroft breathes. „Yesss…“

He leans forward, puts his weight on both hands, pressing down on Greg‘s chest and sets a steady rhythm that makes him quietly moan with every movement.

\---

Call him old-fashioned, but Greg does usually enjoy seeing his partner’s enjoyment far more than rushing to the finish line himself, so he’ll force himself under control as long as he has to. He runs his hands over Mycroft’s waist, his hips, then wraps one about Mycroft’s cock, letting his rhythm carry him through Greg’s hand with every rise along with an escalating series of gasping moans.

“Gregory….”

“All yours, Mycroft,” Greg pants. “Just, ah, take what you need, love.”

It’s taking a significant amount of willpower and concentration not to thrust up while Mycroft sets the pace, but Greg wants to give him this, wants to see exactly how Mycroft enjoys him so he can emulate it. “Beautiful, you are-” he groans as Mycroft takes Greg’s hand and puts it about his hip, letting Greg have the leverage to start matching Mycroft’s pace, letting them rock together.

All of Greg’s thoughts are coalescing into a mix of Oh god Mycroft you’re beautiful you’re gorgeous fuck fuck fuck and he’s steadily getting less and less able to voice any of it coherently. “Fuck, Myc-”

\---

Mycroft wants to draw this out, he really does, but every single one of Greg‘s motions - however small they may be - almost pushes him over the edge. But then again, Greg looks like he has it so much worse…

They can do this again. They will do this again. This is not just a one-time thing, Mycroft is sure about that. So he takes one hand and wraps it around his own cock to stroke himself, then leans forward to put his weight on his own knees. Greg gets the silent plea immediately. He plants both feet on the bed to have more leverage and starts pushing upwards faster and harder.

„Gregory…“ Mycroft gasps, everything but his name forgotten. „I can‘t…“

„Please show me,“ Greg begs. „I want to see your face when you come.“

Fuck, fuck….

Mycroft moves his hand ever faster and then his orgasm hits him almost by surprise. His body moves up, head thrown back as he comes almost silently, groaning like he can barely keep it in, painting Greg‘s chest white. His hand never stops moving.

\---

He’s beautiful. Mycroft is beautiful. The sight of him as he crests is- fuck- Greg makes himself hang on a bit longer, just so he can see, just so he can see Mycroft come apart-

That’s enough to do him in as well.

The posh room is framed in white at the edge of his vision, Mycroft in the center as though he’s everything, the only one Greg can see clearly as he tips over the edge himself, hands clutching into Mycroft’s thighs and hips pressing up against him. “Myc-” is the only part of the name he can manage before he is well and truly gone, pulsing his release while buried in Mycroft. His hands fall of their own accord back to the bed as his body expends any thought of lingering tension and he breathes in deep bursts to try to get his lungs back in order enough to speak.

“Myc- Mycroft,” he begins, his voice a bit raw. “That was-” He lets out an involuntary chuckle at the absurdity of it all, that he of all people is lying in a posh bed in a luxury hotel in the middle of Venice with Mycroft Holmes. It doesn’t quite seem real. His fingers stray up and help guide Mycroft to lay down beside him, and he keeps the contact, brushing along Mycroft’s skin just to reassure himself that yes, this happened. Is happening. Will hopefully happen again. With frequency.

He grins. “Perfect.”

\---

Mycroft can‘t speak. He is unable to utter a single sound, as his breath is not slowing down. In fact he feels it speeding up with every single one of Greg‘s touches.

Oh god. Oh my god. Fuck.

His thoughts are reeling.

What did I do? What did I just do?

„Uhm, you had the grace to gift me with the best shag I‘ve had in years,“ Greg answers, amusement in his voice.

„Did- Did I say that out loud?“

„Uh… yeah.“

It‘s just too absurd. He‘s lying on a bed with Gregory Lestrade. In Venice. After they‘ve just had the most mind-blowing sex. He can agree with Greg on that one.

„Mycroft, you can stop freaking out. We met by chance. It happens. For the record: I‘m glad it happened.“

Greg turns on his side, slinging one leg over Mycroft, then turns the other‘s head towards him gently. He looks into Mycroft‘s eyes with so much adoration, Mycroft‘s heart almost stops.

„I‘m also glad it happened,“ Mycroft admits and Greg smiles broadly in response. „You should move in with me.“

„What??“

„Into the hotel room, I mean,“ Mycroft quickly adds and blushes deeply. „For the rest of the week.“

„Ah, yes, well…“

„Please. I find myself unwilling to let you go.“

\---

For the week. In Venice. Right. Okay. Greg grins. That would be in line with the rest of this trip so far. Possibly completely daft but possibly the most ridiculously wonderful risk he’s ever taken. “I don’t think I want to go.” He runs his thumb over Mycroft’s jaw, unable to resist a bit of a cheek response. “Assuming they let blokes like me stay in places like this. I could get run out for utter lack of poshness.”

“Gregory.”

“They’ll probably think I’m a thief. Ooh, or some sort of escort.” Greg waggles his brows and Mycroft swats him lightly.

“You are a gentleman and shall fit in perfectly well.”

“Gentleman might be a stretch. But you do realise that it won’t all be shagging the entire time? Because I for one do not have that sort of stamina anymore and I’m guessing you did not plan to lock yourself in a bedroom for your entire trip. Did you?”

“I… was planning to simply relax.”

“Ah.” Gregory shifts so he is resting his head in the crook of his arm. “Do you think you would like to go out from time to time? See the sights?”

\---

„Relaxing doesn‘t mean staying in this room. I had planned on visiting my favourite places in the city.“

„Favourite? Of course you‘ve been here before.“

Mycroft shrugs. „On work, yes. There was very little time to properly enjoy anything, but these places left a big impression on me nonetheless. It‘s why I decided to spend my week here… Visit everything unrushed. Alone.“

There‘s a small shadow on Greg‘s face and Mycroft realises why. He quickly presses a gentle kiss to Greg‘s lips and then all but wraps himself around the other man, a small smile on his lips as he feels Greg‘s arms tightening around him.

„If you‘re willing, I‘d love to take you with me- see everything together. Being here with you already makes me feel more at peace than I had hoped the whole week to achieve. I can‘t even imagine how much more joy the rest of the week would bring,“ he whispers slowly, but with with a smile in his voice.

Mycroft draws back a bit to see Greg‘s eyes, wants to see if the other understands something, that he doesn‘t even really understand himself yet.

\---

“Yeah. Yes. I’d like that.” Greg feels his heart stutter- Mycroft is so… well-spoken. And open. He can already picture it, the two of them wandering by the canals, Mycroft probably speaking Italian because Greg is already certain he can. Afternoon pauses at the cafes. Sex on every possible surface of this suite.

Then back in London- and God, doesn’t that thought make his heart rate spike- dinners, maybe. Drinks at odd hours when they’re both at work late. Brunch.

Shit.

It’s a craving for a sort of domesticity he had more or less given up on.

 

Okay, deep breath, Lestrade. Eloquence has never come as easy for Greg. “I’ll go anywhere with you, Mycroft. Anywhere you like. But I don’t want this to be… just this week. I want to- once we’re back in London, I want to go out. With you. On… dates. Even if, with our work schedules, it’s just carry out at our flats. If that’s alright.”

\---

So that‘s what he needed to understand. Greg puts what‘s been in his heart for so long in such easy words. He feels almost jealous. His own words are always so rambling, so winding.

„Yes, that sounds… very appealing.“

Greg‘s face lights up like a sunrise and Mycroft feels like he could easily fall in love with the man, now that his brain has wrapped itself around the possibility. He places a gentle kiss on Greg‘s lips, just because he can.

„In fact, it‘s quite a marvelous idea. I very much intend to have you over my desk at the office, and we can‘t achieve that here, no matter how much this room seems to impress you.“

Mycroft chuckles as Greg‘s breath catches in his throat.

„You‘re going to be the death of me.“

„I very much hope not, dear Gregory. But you will find that I tend to get all the things I want. And what I want right now is you.“

Greg smiles. „Just for now?“

Mycroft reaches into himself and questions his own heart, but there is no question that needs to be answered.

„I don‘t like to deal in absolutes, but would you terribly mind if I reach far ahead and said forever?“

\---

Greg lets out a slow breath. Over his desk at the office. Holy. God. He didn’t think he could get aroused so quickly after spending himself like that, but words like that are certainly going to make him see if he can try.

What I want right now is you. That’s a trickier phrase. Because Greg wants. He does. A lot. But he can’t do another relationship where right now means nights wondering where and who and yelling over work hours. He doesn’t think Mycroft means that, of course. Mycroft is… different. Somehow this ground feels a lot firmer. Stable. Honest. Real.

But he has to be sure. So he asks. “Just for now?”

There’s only one word of Mycroft’s response that really matters, said with a sort of earnest, open look that Greg imagines very few people ever get to see.

Forever.

Greg smiles.

“Forever is fine with me.”

**Author's Note:**

> I tried to edit all mistakes and typos out, but if you found some, you can keep them as a prize!


End file.
